always that same old story
by waterlit
Summary: Allen, Lenalee, and the great divide. Allen/Lenalee on the surface, but implied Lenalee/Lavi and implied Yullen.


Disclaimer: I own nothing!

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**[a****lways that same old story]**

**Allen, Lenalee, and the great divide.**

**Starring: Implied Lenalee/Lavi and implied Yullen**

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Lena hugs her veil tight and loops it above her head. She has done it – she has crossed the threshold and fallen through the traps and now her feet are snared.

Meanwhile, her groom drinks in the other room, downing glass after glass of wine.

He said, _go to bed, dear, don't wait up for me_, but this is their wedding night, and how could he say that?

But she doesn't really mind. She closes her eyes and dreams deep of red hair and green eyes and words like doves flitting across the sky.

:::

Lenalee feels guilty at times for thinking of other men. She belongs to Allen, she knows, because that's what is expected of her, and his eyes are blue-grey and the colour of the sea which she loved in the days when the crashing of the waves upon the battered rocks was her only company.

Besides, Allen is an important part of her world, and he's so strong, so true, so loyal, so different, so willing to sacrifice himself. If she can just grin and bear it and hold him tight in her embrace then maybe the world will have a chance to be saved. It's not that she doesn't like him anyway; his white hair and red scar are unique and touching them makes her feel brave enough to rebuild the world.

He's Allen, and she is his.

That is her fate.

Not that it's a chore – because she's Lenalee and she is supposed to be Allen's, and anyway she tries the sound of Mistress Walker on her tongue and it slides off rather smoothly. To her chagrin, though, it sounds kind of choppy – like a little girl playing house and trying on her mother's clothes which are too big for her, like a toddler trying on her mother's kohl which is too black for her little-girl eyes still filmed by innocence.

But that's the world for her.

:::

Ena finds her feet and drags them toward the well. This is a good day to drown, she thinks, because she is entirely unworthy of life. Her betrothed has been killed in battle, with only a lock of his white hair sent back to their ghost village, and here she is, standing still, not crying, not grieving.

She's not particularly happy that he's gone for ever, that she'll never see his white hair around a corner or hear his light tread, but she's not particularly sad, either. It's just a sense of loss that doesn't seem to be quite there.

When she turns her head, there he is, but there's nothing she can say to him, not even a goodbye. She can't say _I love you_, because she doesn't mean it and it's wicked to lie to the dead.

:::

When the lilies bloom Allen catches hold of a bunch of them and wraps them delicately, pushing them lightly into Lenalee's arms.

Her breath hitches and her eyes, clear like summer pools, cloud over with tears.

It's worth it, he thinks, because she's his best friend and he wants to make her happy. It doesn't matter that he dreams at night of eyes that are cesspools of emptiness and hair the shade of despair, the colour of the sky in the darkest hour.

His body craves the touch of that creature, but he knows well that to succumb would be heresy. And he doesn't want to make Lenalee cry, anyway. She is the pillar of their world; without her, all of them would crumble to dust.

Everyone knows that Lenalee and Allen are a perfect match. Even Komui secretly thinks so – though he doesn't show it.

Allen doesn't want to disappoint. He remembers the bitter taste of disappointment, the lagging feeling in his throat and the bile in his stomach, and he shudders. If Lenalee's happy, then he's happy too.

:::

The priest and the priestess walk down the dusty lane, cloaked in black and shrouded in the mysteries of lore. She dreams of the flaming hair and bottle-green eyes that she left behind, and beside her, her companion remembers the flashing glances and silky hair that now only linger in his memory.

They grow old.

Cold are the nights now, but only they can wrought the work needed to restore the earth to peace and all things good. It doesn't matter that they ache inside; the people are happy, and – and, who's to say that they are wrong?

:::

Lenalee kisses Allen full on the mouth because he's really quite a sweet guy and everyone in the room expects her to do it. Komui tears, and so does Allen, but Allen sniffs and beams, sweeping his feelings under the carpet, hiding his skeletons in dark and musty cupboards.

This is it, then.

They are one now, for better or for worse. Damned be those who try and break the cycle time and again, for these lovers are spurned each time a new age rolls round. The strings of fate tie them so, and nothing more can be said.

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A/N: How was this? It's a Allen-and-Lenalee-are-together-but-don't-love-each-other-in-that-way kind of fic. For once I have actually included some real Yullen – not the flimsy Kanda/femAllen that I usually write. Is that surprising or what.

And, by the way, Lena and Ena are both former reincarnations of Lenalee. Couldn't think of any other names for her :/

So yeah – I'd be glad to hear your thoughts on this. Thanks for reading!


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